


Late Night Talks

by Yuni30



Series: Nymph Hugs [20]
Category: Ni No Kuni: Wrath of the White Witch (Video Game)
Genre: Bonding, Brotherly Bonding, Childhood, Childhood Memories, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotions, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Late Night Conversations, Late at Night, Male Friendship, Mutilation, Past, Past Lives, Self-Doubt, Self-Harm, Self-Mutilation, Self-Reflection, Sleep, Talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 16:58:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16022132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuni30/pseuds/Yuni30
Summary: An unexpected chat between friends. All because a certain mage won't fall asleep.(Part of the Nymph Hugs Story on Fanfiction.net.)





	Late Night Talks

**Author's Note:**

> Decided to experiment with a writing style. I saw someone do something similar with a mostly dialogue driven drabble. Let's see if it works.
> 
> Spoilers for later part of the game. You know the drill.
> 
> Warning: There is mention of self-harm later in this one.
> 
> Disclaimer: If I owned the rights, Ni no Kuni would be a darker game than it is. Be thankful I don't.

A quiet night in the inn in Perdida, just before journeying into the miasma marshes. The familiar tamer slept in her own bed, the fairy somehow having rolled off onto the floor out of the two boys'. The boy wizard couldn't sleep. He was excited yet terrified. What if he couldn't defeat Shadar? What if he couldn't free Alicia's soul? What would happen?

He didn't dare open the companion to lull himself to sleep- he worried about waking everyone up with the light… So what else was there?

He was wide awake. He just stared at the ceiling, counting down each time Drippy's lantern shifted. When that didn't work, he switched to counting the seconds between the thief's snores- though that was never constant as they often varied in volume.

He was at a loss. How long would he have to wait until his mind settled down until his nerves ceased to rattle? _Dang it_. He thought, looking around the room. He turned on his side and watched the still back of a blanket covered Esther and a snoozing fairy whose small chest rose and fell.

He wasn't sure how long he stared. It was about an hour, he believed. He turned back to face the rogue, whose back also faced him. He always seemed to curl up and grab his shoulders for comfort. The kid assumed that behavior was out of habit, considering the man's years of living alone. It was hard to seriously hurt someone if they laid like that with their backs against a wall, he figured.

The man didn't really tell them much about anything. He kept himself quite reserved. He really didn't dwell on anything that had to do with his personal history- so all of their experience and knowledge of Hamelin was from either first hand, through Marcassin, or what little bits and pieces they could press together.

He supposed he could learn more… He shook his head, closing his eyes. He didn't want to bother the thief. He had a pension for getting really irritable the less sleep he had. He'd drink a decent portion of coffee- which they all needed to focus their skills- in the morning as a consequence if his night didn't fair to well.

He turned back on his back. Back to the ceiling again. It wasn't like he had much of a choice. "Urgh," he groaned softly, throwing an arm over his eyes in defeat.

A soft moan from next to him sounded. At first, he assumed it was just another snore, but then the thief shifted; he was prone to staying in the same position all night- not much of a restless sleeper. His posture had loosened from the tight ball he held himself in and he tilted his free side slightly as he turned his head a little to look at the young mage.

"Oliver…," Swaine mumbled, drowsy. "You're… still up," he yawned.

"Couldn't sleep. I'm _really_ nervous." He didn't move his arm. "Sorry for waking you."

"Mmm…"

"You should probably go back to sleep, Swaine."

"Mmmhmm…," the thief groaned back.

There was silence for a moment. The boy lifted his arm a little to peak at the man sharing the bed with him. He hadn't curled back up. He always curled up when he willingly went to sleep. He was still awake.

Another few minutes passed.

"Are you… asleep," Oliver hesitantly asked the thief.

"Barely. It's hard for me to fall back asleep once I've fully woken up."

"What fully woke you up," the boy prodded curiously.

"Wondering what could possibly keep you up and make you so nervous."

"Oh… umm…," Oliver whispered as he turned back to face the rogue's back. "Just pre-battle jitters. That's all."

"Oh? Do you need something to calm you down then? Where's your Companion?"

"Well… You see… I need light and I didn't want to wake up anyone."

"Gotcha." He heard Swaine sigh before he rolled over to face him. "Perhaps I could tell you a story or something. Would that help?" He chuckled lightly, softly. "Hell, maybe it will lull _me_ to sleep."

"What kind of story?"

"Anything. You name it."

"…"

"…Well…?"

"Can you tell me about Hamelin- what it was like growing up there?"

The thief coughed, choking on his own spit in shock.

"Are you okay, Swaine?"

"How about something different, eh? Hamelin's _boring_! You don't want to hear about that," he waved off, harshly whispering.

"No, it isn't! It's really cool! I want to know what it's like living in a machine city," he whispered back.

"Oh geez- Oliver, it's like any other city- crowded, everyone trying to get things done as quickly as possible, and impossibly huge. That's it."

He just stared back at Swaine. "That's not what I saw."

There was stammering then a silent bout of contemplation from his older friend. "Okay. It won't be much- so you may want to find another topic."

"I don't mind."

"Good…," he sighed, reaching up and rubbing his head in annoyance. "I can't speak for most people, but it was very militaristic. I remember being taught how to wield a sword and various strategies of battle. It was a very _very_ thorough and strict training regimen." He scoffed. "That's the thing about Hamelin. It's heavily focused on the distant future."

"Is that it…?"

"That's all I want to divulge, yes."

"But- but!"

"What," he snarled. "That's all there is to say, Oliver."

"Did you have any favorite holidays…?"

The thief was quiet for a moment. He had never really thought about holidays all too much before. "Er… Yeah. It's… umm…," he glanced up at the ceiling and then down to the blanket. "The royal procession."

The boy looked down then glanced at the ceiling as he began to piece information together. "Wait… Isn't that the _only_ well-known holiday Hamelin has?"

Swaine cleared his throat. "No… Not really. We have truffling contests and the Yule feast, but those pale in comparison to the royal procession which really celebrates _two_ things." He held out his free hand signifying the number. "Our annual accomplishments and the current emperor's birthday."

"So… Why do you like it so much, then?"

"It's the inventions," he nonchalantly informed. "I love seeing what Hamelin's best minds come up with. Even as a child I looked forward to it."

"But… wouldn't you have to be at the front of the float when you were a kid?"

He waved it away mockingly. "It didn't matter. Back then, I got to go see the inventions personally before we left the palace. Many people, then and now, would _kill_ to get that close to them."

"Oh, wow," the wizard gasped in amazement. "What kind of machines were there?"

There was a heavy, reluctant breath. "Erm… I can't say for certain- it varies. The royal procession happens _every_ year. It's like keeping track of birthdays- you just can't remember them all." He paused for a moment as he placed a hand on his chin. "Tanks… Tanks were often a big thing. Everyone _loves_ hog tanks."

"…"

"What," the thief asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I just thought- I mean…"

"Mean what?"

"I thought _you_ invented the hog tank."

Swaine looked at Oliver in shock for a moment. "…You _did_ read the Wizard's Companion, right?"

"I thought they were talking about you and… Marcassin," he admitted, hesitant to bring up the sage.

"Oh." He lied on his back. "Yeah, no. That wasn't us." He had a small smile. "Though, I will say, that hog tank we fought was a design I drew up and gave to those two inventors. So, I guess I helped design them to some capacity."

"Huh…" The kid beamed back at him. "That's still awesome, Swaine!"

"Eh…" The thief shrugged. "That sort of thing's common in Hamelin. Someone pitches a design, and, if the design is feasible enough, the inventor tries it out." He looked over at his young friend. "That's how we progress."

There was a moment of silence between the two. Another hour seemed to pass.

"I still can't sleep, Swaine."

"Ugh," the man responded. He scrunched up his face and looked over. "Yeah, me neither." He rolled over and tried to force himself to sleep by curling up again. "I'm going to try." He glanced over his side. "Think about hog tanks. Maybe at some point, you'll wear yourself out mentally."

"I'll… I'll try."

Swaine didn't respond. The boy rolled on his back and looked up at the ceiling. _Hog tanks… How are they made…?_ That suggestion just made it worse. Now he _had_ to know how hog tanks worked! "Hey, Swaine?"

"What," he snapped softly.

"How are hog tanks made?"

"It's too complicated and too late at night for me to explain _that_ , Oliver."

"But now I can't sleep because of it!"

The man sighed and relaxed his form. He rolled over to face Oliver again. "Fine. I'll tell you something else."

"Like…?"

"I don't flipping know," he almost wanted to shout. He swung his free arm in the air over the layer of the blanket covering him. "What do you want to hear?" He stopped for a moment when the mage opened his mouth. "And don't say hog tanks," he warned harshly with a pointed finger.

"…"

"…Well? Anything?"

"Umm… What was it like being a thief- you know, after you left Hamelin…?"

"I'm not telling you that, Oliver."

"You don't have to tell me the bad stuff-"

"It's nothing _but_ bad stuff. No. Something else."

"Uh… Well… I've never been heartbroken so…"

"Oh, god, Oliver," he hissed. "Is there _anything_ you want to know that won't dredge up old memories?"

"I can keep it secret."

"I don't want to dwell on the past any more than I have to." He sighed. "Even so… I really shouldn't tell you. You have enough emotional garbage as it is to go through."

Oliver hummed in thought for a moment. "…I think I can handle it."

The man groaned and slowly rolled his eyes. "Don't you already, you know, _know_ about heartbreak? You heal people all the time," he whispered back.

"Yeah, Mr. Drippy told me."

"Then why do you want _me_ to tell you? Of all the things that fairy's good for, it's explaining something until it can't possibly be explained further." He shrugged. "What's the point? What's there to learn?"

"But that's from Mr. Drippy. It was… kind of broad. I want to know what it felt like from someone who's gone through it." He paused for a moment, looking at his own hands. "Maybe it will help me help the brokenhearted better."

He sighed and shook his head. "From hog tanks to heartbreak- what a transition." He scowled at the boy. "Sorry, but I'd rather not." He rolled over, finally giving up. "Goodnight."

"Can I at least ask why…?" When he saw Swaine tense up, he flinched. "Or not…" He lied on his back as he studied the ceiling again. He figured heartbreak was painful. It was no wonder he didn't really want to say anything. "It must be really bad. Whatever it is, I'm sorry I brought it up." He had no idea what the man had gone through- all he knew was that even he didn't deserve it. "I'm sorry you had to go through it."

This kid was… persistent- but not in the trying way Esther could be. He cared- there was a genuine warmth about his curiosity. It was late. It was just Oliver. If it _did_ help him be a better wizard, then besides himself, where was the harm…?

"…Okay…," he breathed, gripping his shoulders tighter. "It's kind of fuzzy… my memory of it. That's what it can be like. There are bits and pieces. Most of them..." He felt his voice catch in his throat as he recalled his experience. "There was a bit of pain."

"Pain? Did you get headaches or something?"

"Not always. I often blacked out and woke up in completely different places. It got worse and worse…" He shook his head from what the boy could tell. "But that's not all. I _knew_ when I was conscious because of the pain." He rubbed his free shoulder before tensing up again. "Things get really blurry. You start wondering what's real and what's delusion." He laid back onto his back. "The weird thing about the human mind is that you remember fear and _pain_ more than anything else." Even as he said this, he looked away from the mage, concealing the wounded look he had.

"So if it wasn't headaches… what was it?" He watched as the thief glanced at him. "Was it your heart…?"

He shook his head. He grunted uncomfortably as he turned away again. "I… really don't think I should say, Oliver. Just thinking about it disgusts me."

"Does the past really hurt that much…?"

"Yeah… They say the past can't really hurt you. They also say it can haunt you." He looked over his shoulder. "The past doesn't haunt me. It might as well be bludgeoning me."

"Only if you let it. You can fight it…"

He raised an unseen eyebrow. "How?"

"Telling someone about it. Talking it out with someone you trust."

"Oliver," he groaned. He rolled over again to face him. "I hardly trust anyone as it is!"

"Do you trust me?"

"H-huh," the thief stammered, caught off guard by the question. He furrowed his brow and stared back at the boy. "Of course, I trust you, Oliver. What kind of question is that?!"

The wizard nodded affirmatively. "Then tell me. I'll listen."

The boy stared at the thief and the thief stared back. As Swaine considered his answer, he bit the inside of his lip. He groaned uncomfortably again as he turned his head suddenly to squint at the adobe ceiling. He looked back at Oliver again. "You've got your wand handy, have you," he requested.

"Uh… why?"

"I'll show you what I mean."

"Umm… you mean to cast Magic Lantern?"

He saw Swaine nod in the dark.

"That will wake the others."

"We'll pull the blankets over our heads. Besides…," He lifted his head to look at the girl and the fairy. "One isn't even facing us and the other… well, the fairy could sleep through an earthquake."

"Huh. Okay. Yeah, let's do that, Swaine." He nodded at the cad again as he reached down to his bag and pulled out Mornstar. The two of them sat up and proceeded to throw the blankets over them, making a makeshift tent. Oliver cast the spell, allowing them to see for a decent amount of time.

Swaine sat in front of him, his legs crossed. He seemed to be unbuttoning his short-sleeved orange shirt- his coat was hanging on the end of the bed.

"What are you doing," the wizard asked him with a look of confusion.

"Hold on." He slid off the shirt and set it to his side. That's when the kid saw it. Scars, different shapes, and different sizes populated the former prince's shoulders. Some of them were raised, the others were sunken in based on how they healed.

The deepest ones seemed to be on his sides, running along his thin, now slightly more nourished frame.

"What happened to you," the sage asked him, his voice taking on a more frightened and concerned tone. "Are these from fights? Did you get into a lot of fights, when you were heartbroken?"

He shook his head somberly. "No… At the time it seemed like a good idea- a way of keeping track of when I was… myself." He ran a few fingers across the scars on his shoulder. "I guess I never _was_ really. I'd never willingly do this before I lost restraint. I'd never do this now. It was only then." He leaned forward. "Losing a piece of heart is literally losing a piece of yourself, Oliver. You stop being _you_. You start doing things you'd never think of doing. Wanting things you'd never think of wanting… and you become…" He raised a hand, his palm facing the blanket.

He let it fall, the back of his hand tapping his knee limply. "…Useless." He shook his head a little. "Or worse, a menace." He heaved a heavy breath and looked down at the scars on his sides. "I think I _knew_ what was going on… or at least what was left of me. I knew I needed to get a grip, so I…" He gestured outward but still toward himself with his hands. "Did this as a reminder of being 'awake'. I knew I could make a sound decision when I was in pain." He traced one of the deeper scars on his abdomen.

He watched worriedly as the thief did so. "Why are those so deep…?"

"I got used to them. They stopped hurting as much." He scoffed as he looked to the side. "Luckily I stopped when I saw you three. I think something shifted- or clicked, more like- before I got any worse." He gritted his teeth as he looked down at them. "I _hate_ that I had the gall to do this to myself."

"You couldn't control yourself."

"I know… but see, this damage is the kind of damage healing hearts can't fix."

"But you said it yourself, Swaine. You wouldn't do it again, now! Healing hearts can keep this kind of damage from happening again!"

 _There's a fair point,_ Swaine thought with a raised eyebrow. "They're permanent reminders of my darkest hour, Oliver. At the time, there was little I had in the way of support." He gave a short, sad laugh. "I could have bled out, you know. I might as well have jumped off a cliff." He leaned back on his hands and scoffed. "I believe it got so bad I wondered if dying would be a better option."

Oliver shifted uncomfortably. "Did you…" He cleared his throat nervously. "Did you try to kill yourself?"

For a moment he sat straight back up with panicked wide eyes. "What?! No! Not really. I mean, I toyed with the idea. I even jumped off the very last dock in Castaway Cove to see what jumping off of something would be like- on a whim!" He leaned back again. "Then I believe I didn't like feeling suddenly soaked- spied something attractive and decided to steal it." He lifted a hand and waved in front of him. "Or something like that. I remember being drenched in water so, I must have taken a dive somewhere."

"Swaine," Oliver complained. "I'm serious. This isn't something you joke about."

"So am I. I wasn't flipping suicidal, just very _very_ lost and confused."

He breathed a sigh of relief and smiled. "I'm glad I didn't actually die in the long run." When he sat up again he suddenly felt a pair of arms wrap around him and Oliver's hair brush his chest. He froze, not expecting the sudden embrace.

"I'm glad, too."

He lifted a hand, hesitating as he held it above the mage's ginger hair. He smiled down at the teen and patted his head. "Heh. Thanks, kiddo."

The mage let go as Mornstar started to flicker, the spell wearing off. The thief took what chance he had to put back on and button back up his shirt. They re-wrapped themselves in covers, preparing for another attempt at sleep.

It seemed to work, as Oliver yawned as he snuggled down into the blankets.

"…You won't tell the other two… right," Swaine asked worriedly.

"I won't. I won't even tell Marcassin." The thief heard another yawn. "That's something you should really tell him yourself."

"Thank you, Oliver," he breathed gratefully. "If it means anything to you, I feel a lot better getting that off of my chest."

"And Swaine," the wizard called.

"Hmm?" He glanced over his shoulder at the boy's back.

"You should know, I'm happy you're still around. You're really a good person… and a good friend."

A warm feeling washed through the thief. He smiled as he looked back at the wall. He needed to hear that… from someone. He was glad it was Oliver. He felt himself relax a little more before drifting asleep. "Sure thing, kiddo. Sure thing," he whispered to his now sleeping friend.

**Author's Note:**

> Author's note:
> 
> Well… That was… something. Initially, I wanted to focus more on the self-harm (because there is something seriously wrong with me and I need to seek counseling), but I decided against it. I seem to be veering more towards thief boy's spell of heartbreak right now- that and that grey area in between Hamelin and Castaway Cove. We really don't know much about those years in between. On top of that, something caught my attention (EAD13 might have had some influence on this)- he covers up a lot. He hides his past a lot. What if it's not just modesty? I mean, he's skin and bones, so it could be the fact that he's pretty malnourished for someone his age and he doesn't want to draw concern, but that wasn't enough for my decrepit little mind, was it?
> 
> I often equate heartbreak as a sort of representation of depression and other mental illnesses- but mostly depression. From what I know, many people experience depression differently and do things for different reasons. Some escape into other things. Some hurt themselves (for varying reasons, reasons I can't hope to fully grasp myself). Some can't get out of bed in the morning. Granted, I've never considered myself as a person that suffers from depression, but lately, I've been kind of worried that I might be. I know I'm out of my depth- as I know people who've suffered from it, who _have_ hurt themselves during it, but I've never experienced it at its worst myself.
> 
> Aaaanyway. I decided to give a nice bit of character bonding and fond backstory giving before the more serious stuff. Sorry if this caused any issues for anyone. Just… be kind to yourselves, alright?
> 
> Anyway. Thoughts? Critiques? Even if not, I hope you enjoyed and took something from this. Sorry, it got a bit dark.


End file.
